His name was Viktor Thquinthor, though everyone just called him Vik. Came to Canada from Eastern Europe in '72 with barely enough cash for a bus ticket and a determination that could move mountains - literally, as it turned out.

Vik spent his first Canadian winter working ski patrol up in Whistler. That's where he fell head over heels for these mountains. Used to tell us about standing on the peaks at sunrise, watching the light hit the snow, thinking "this is where I'm supposed to be." Not many people get that kind of clarity, but when you do, you've gotta listen to it.

For fifteen years, he saved every penny. Worked three jobs some seasons - ski patrol during winter, construction in summer, bartending whenever he could squeeze it in. His friends thought he was nuts, honestly. But Vik had this vision of a place where people could experience the mountains the way he did - not just as a playground, but as something that changes you.

When he finally bought this land in '87, the property was pretty rough - an old hunting cabin and a bunch of overgrown trails. But Vik saw past all that. He built the first rooms himself, along with a crew of five guys who became lifelong friends. They worked through two winters, dealing with weather delays, budget overruns, and more than a few "what are we doing?" moments.

The resort opened with twelve rooms in March 1989. First guest was actually Vik's old ski patrol buddy who paid fifty bucks to stay in a room that wasn't quite finished yet. They ended up spending half the night fixing a leaky pipe together, laughing about how far they'd come.

The original lodge under construction, winter 1988

Vik passed away in 2019, but his philosophy's still everywhere here. He always said luxury wasn't about fancy stuff - it was about making people feel genuinely cared for. About respecting the land. About creating memories that stick with you long after you've gone home.

His daughter Elena runs things now, along with his grandson Marcus handling operations. They've modernized plenty, sure, but they've kept what matters. Every morning, there's still fresh coffee brewing at 5 AM for the early risers. The fireplace in the main lodge still uses wood from sustainable local sources, just like Vik insisted. And we still treat every guest like they're the first person to ever discover this incredible spot.

That's the legacy, really. Not the buildings or the awards on the wall, but this feeling that you're somewhere genuine. Somewhere built by people who actually gave a damn. Vik would've been proud of what this place has become, though knowing him, he'd probably just shrug and say "it's not about me, it's about the mountains."

And honestly? He'd be right about that too.